The Hyuga Garden
by the point
Summary: The Hyuga is a well-oiled machine; everyone knows their place. But with time, things change, and they become less machine and more man. This is her garden. This is her Hyuga. And she is their gardener that no one must touch - foxes included.
1. The Hyuga Garden

**I don't know how I'm doing this. I don't know how I can't stop writing Hinata fan fic. (I've already written the next two chapters for Summoner-nin, so expect an update next week.) This one had been inspired by all those fan fics that have a ruckus-loving Hanabi. I kinda wanted to portray the Hyuga Clan with this.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**The Hyuga Garden**

The Hyuga were known to be mechanical, to be as faceless and blank as their empty eyes. They were incapable of feeling or being anything but the soulless name that was the Hyuga. Other and insubstantial – something nothing short than air and nothingness, the Hyuga were autonomous beings – unnatural and irregular from the rest of the human race. For the countrymen outside the walls of Konoha, they knew the Hyuga as an elite force whose commercial ventures lay over the Fire Country like a thick wraith-like web, silent and deadly. For those who lived within the walls of Konoha, the Hyuga were nameless ninja whose sole purpose served the populace without feeling or care, ghostly and vile, and in turn they looked to the clan without feeling or care, ghostly and vile. For the Hyuga themselves, they saw themselves as a machine, mere cogs and springs in a magnificent piece of robotic structure – each piece serving a function, each piece a part of the whole, each piece as significant as the others.

Each piece as soulless as the one next to it.

But unbeknownst to those who lived outside the Konoha wall, or even inside the wall, within the farthest corner of the Hyuga Compound, within those blank cold walls and those heavy oppressive gates and passing the many faceless and nameless Hyuga copies, there was a garden. It was unlike all the other well-manicured, well-restricted, well-limited gardens that could be seen elsewhere within the Hyuga Compound. This one was almost wild, feral, uncontrollable – _natural_ in the face of all this machinery.

It was not new. Perhaps it was new to the non-Hyuga, the visiting foreign dignitary or the lucky ninja who came bearing a message for the Lord of the Household, but it was not new. It had been in existence for years now, a small thing that had grown and matured despite its chilling environment, its suppressive masters and mistresses – but it had had help. It would not have survived otherwise; the Hyuga gardeners had been persistent in their mission in annihilating anything that was not of their plans, not within their well-devised stratagems and insistent Feng Shui – not within the cogs and springs of the Hyuga machine.

But they stayed away from that small corner, watching throughout the years, somewhat insulted, as that small patch began to slowly swallow the rest of the corner, and then along the side, and then the whole courtyard altogether within a successive year.

They had not, did not, touch it, because it was _her_ garden.

It began first as herbs, small patches of rosemarys and thymes, feeble rows of nettles and basils, more weedy and mangy than anything else, certainly paled in comparison to the neatly-divided squares of Hyuga chrysanthemums and strictly-placed lotuses. But in time, just as _she_ had grown, the patches and rows spread, disease-like in the eyes of the Hyuga, into blueberry bushes and groups of carrots. When she made genin, the garden sprang forth in asters and pansies – colours the Hyuga had never seen in their robotic, well-orderly lives.

He did not stop her. No one stopped her, made ever cautious as she made chunin (lilacs and rose bushes appeared within the night), and then jounin (gerbera daisies and even a whole apple tree found their place within the courtyard), and then seemed to skim ANBU (a pond for cattails and her own collection of wild water lilies; swans were ordered in), but withdrew on her own accord to sit on their Lord's right side (orchids and freesias).

Left untouched by the others, it did not mean they did not speak of it, of the garden that was not Hyuga, wild and untamed, colourful and emotional. Parts of the machinery would wander by, eyes averted as if ashamed, hurrying their steps as if running from the pain caused by the sweet scents carried by the soft breeze – ignoring the warmth stored within their hearts to see such a sight. They would ignore that small corner, that ambiguous courtyard so far away, but they could not ignore her garden _outside_ of that obscure corner, that small courtyard – the garden that was not so much as vegetation, but under her care nevertheless.

There was their Lord, the mechanical brain in their machinery – her Pine Tree. Tall and overbearing, strict and hard, strong and fitted with prickles along his branches, their Lord could endure any weather, any temperature, any threat – winter did not dull his senses, spring did not induce feelings. He was of hardwood, when cut, he could heal himself – his sap all-enduring and patient. His age made him stronger, his wisdom made him dangerous – he was unbendable with his roots several metres into the ground, weaving across the earth to tangle and choke his enemies to their deaths.

They dared not touch her with him near, dared not breathe in the oxygen he provided for it was reserved only for her and the rest of his seedlings.

Then there was the Young Master, from a lower branch in their machinery, but of a skill that made him necessary to the binary of their master code. He was her Venus Flytrap. Precise and deadly, he appeared as fragile as any other Hyuga with his thin stem and rounded leaves. He should have been the perfect machine, so inconspicuous with his bright green and untoward geniality. No one could have expected him to be carnivorous, his teeth sharp and acid biting. No one could have expected him to be so fluid and conniving, so protective and scathing – so masterful his disguise and tricks.

They dared not touch her with him near, dared not go near for fear of being eaten alive.

Of all those within her garden, the Young Mistress was one they had thought they could have prevented. She was a mimicry of their Lord, before he had turned natural, just as robotic as the rest of them, just as blank as the rest of them – just as _unfeeling_ as the rest of them. But they should have known. She was a Hyuga like the rest of them, just as full as guile. It had been a rouse from the very start, her obedience to the collective, her compliance to the inner workings of the Hyuga computer. She was her Rose. Beauty incarnate, rich with velvet petals and pliant as their Juken, she was painful to the touch, littered with thorns that drew blood and poisoned whoever came near. She would weave lattices with her deadly stems, knit cages for those who dared to transgress her, and string ropes to strangle her enemies and the enemies of her beloved. She was, perhaps, the most deadly of all the plants in her garden.

They dared not touch her with her near, dared not speak in fear of a thorn to their throats.

It seemed, then, that her garden was complete, wild and destructive to the machinery whole. It seemed, then, that there was nothing else to do, but for the collective to douse fire upon her garden and smoke her out, peg her with a computer virus and suffocate her before she could infect the rest of their hardware. It seemed easy; they outnumbered her, but a machine was but a machine, incapable of independent thought.

They were their own destruction, parts rivalling other parts – cogs versus springs for the super brain. In their endeavour to multi-task, to down her and her garden, they began to vie amongst themselves as to who was to be their next Lord and Master – their next brain in their robot. Sprockets broke off in factions, levers divided themselves – screws, wires, batteries – they all wanted what they could not have, for they were only machines, they did not know what they wanted or if there was even more to life than this unlife.

It surprised them then, when their collective finally fell to pieces of nails and switches, when she held her palms open to cup them gently before they could hit the ground. It surprised them, then, when she took them carefully, one by one, and planted them in the ground, watered them, gave them sunlight, fed them in the mornings and sung to them in the evenings. It surprised them, then, when her garden, the only natural thing within the Hyuga Compound, manifested branches and vines to bolster them up, to stick their pieces back together – to make them complete again.

And through the process of rebirth, a form no machine could take, the Hyuga became something more than just ones and zeroes. They became living beings, capable of multi-tasking, of understanding more than face value – of _living_ and _feeling_ and _being_.

They became her tulips and daffodils in the spring, sunflowers and dahlias in the summer, burning bushes and chrysanthemums in the fall, and winter jasmines and honeysuckles in the winter. They ripened into apples and lemons for her teas, oranges and nectarines for her tarts, and cherries and strawberries for her jams. They became her ivies, supporting the inner walls of the Hyuga, and her grape vines, trailing along the edges of the roofs to provide refreshment for the collective wherever they went.

And outside the Hyuga, they became wilder, _livelier_. They were her clovers along the streets of Konoha, and the golden rods in the Fire Country fields. They became her snapdragons and buttercups along the rivers. They became her foxgloves and poppies across the borders; her trilliums and dandelions in the forests.

And they would return every time they wandered off. She did not nip their buds or fixate their roots. She did not hold them in with fences or discard them in the waste bin if they weren't feeling well. She opened their cages instead, gave them the key so they may find the door themselves if they wished it. She allowed for their leaves to reach for the sun, they faces to turn towards the sky and they roots to take flight, in whatever direction and carelessness they found whimsical at the moment.

She allowed her garden to live, and they began to live for her in turn.

In all their blooming faces and colourful petals, their beautifully spun kimonos and bejewelled hair pins, they hid their smiles behind their sleeves, their laughter behind the Hyuga walls, for they had to be careful. They were still Hyuga, they prided themselves for their own riches and luxurious adornments, their honour and laws, but above all-

They had to be careful with their most cherished flower.

They were her garden, and in turn she was their most cherished. They would not let just anyone pluck her away, monopolize her beauty or unintentionally over-water her. They would not let anyone overshadow her and keep the sun away, or forget to feed her in the mornings or sing to her in the evenings. They would not let some _insect _take her sweet pollens and never come calling again.

No. They were careful in letting her be seen, be heard, be felt. The Venus Flytrap ate all the pests who were unworthy; the Rose let her thorns fly amongst those who wanted to hold their most cherished ransom. The Pine Tree, ever resolute, did not look kindly to any male or even female who may wish to pluck her petals.

They had been lucky thus far, very lucky. Her beauty was sublime, subtle in the face of her sister Rose, quiet in the background of her cousin Venus Flytrap – overshadowed under the force that was her father Pine Tree. She too, to the blessed relief of her garden, very modest with how she displayed herself, very gentile and natural, not attracting any sort of pest when she was outside the Hyuga walls – very inconspicuous, well-liked of course, but no one made to court her when there were the other fabricated and plastic-painted flowers in Konoha, made and displayed for the any old pest to consume freely.

And as the years passed, the garden began a plot of their own, to dig up a new plot of earth in another corner within the Hyuga walls for someone new. Of course, they understood, that their most cherished would need someone to care for her as much she had cared for them, but the new seedling, whoever he would be, would need to bypass the garden's carefully scrutiny and death-defying tests first.

Weeds and caterpillars-disguised-as-butterflies needed not to apply.

The Hyuga were perfect, were all-seeing, numerous in their flowers and hardy in their roots. They did not think that they would make a mistake. They did not think that they had not kept their most cherished away from prying eyes, from those harmful garden bugs. They did not think that she would be out in the gardens when _he_ arrived on one of those "lucky" chances of delivering a letter to their Lord Pine Tree.

The garden refused, of course, to believe that it had been fate, but rather dumb luck.

He had meandered out of the rules concerning his task of being a messenger. He was to go straight down the hall, one of the undecorated, unplanted halls the Hyuga dared not to infuse with flowers in order to deter suitors. Instead, he had _walked off the path_. He had turned the damned corner, ducked though a rafter and _tread through the geraniums by mistake_.

It was a mistake, the Hyuga, the garden collective, understood, of course. Many younger blossoms and seedlings within their clan had stumbled when they first laid eyes on her, on her subtle beauty and forgiving smile – but it was _inexcusable_ for him. He was an outsider trampling over their flowers – _her_ flowers – by passing all the rules and tests they had planted months beforehand to weed out the inefficient and the unworthy, and sometimes both. (Months later they would contemplate on using pesticides on him.) They did not need recessive genes, they wanted good dominate genes. They wanted someone they could prune and graft, to shelter her from the harsh winter winds and to beat back at the rabbits that would dare gnaw at her roots.

He was not their first choice. He was not the brightest bulb in the package.

But it was too late. He had seen. No man, no matter how intelligent or controlled, would have been able to resist her in her most natural habitat. It was only right to see a flower in her true environment to really capture the essence of her beauty, and with the Hyuga Compound littered with berries, fruits, vines, bushes, trees and flowers, no sane man would have been able to look at her and turn away without even a word spoken or a smile given or… to the horror of the garden, a soft kiss on her petals.

She was a Lily. Their most cherished one could be nothing but a Lily. She was dignified in her posture, royal in her height, powerful in her broad leaves. The strength of her stem was not based on how well she could remain standing in the face of the wind, but rather how patient she could bend and remain calm under the wind's fury. Her splendour was not about how the sun reflected off her petals, but how unafraid she was to face the light and fire with a grace most others could not contemplate. She was a power not unlike the Pine Tree, or a deadliness that was not unlike the Venus Flytrap, or a beauty not unlike the Rose, but she was something of the better parts of all three drawn into one magnificent flower.

And her petals were white, white like the Hyuga eyes, white like the stone walls of Hyuga strength – white like a blank canvas. For there she was, long black hair like soft ink in the wind, milky complexion like fairy dust in the sun, feet bare like roots to feel the earth, and dress white like the lily's petals, the Lily was more than just white. A lone figure of ethereal laughter and smiles, a watering can sprinkling warm rain over her charges, the Lily stood in the very middle of her garden, as fragile and charming and delicate as dawn and twilight.

Her dress, her petals, reflected the reds in her roses, the pinks in her bleeding hearts, the yellows in her pears, the blues in her forget-me-nots, the oranges in her marigolds, the purples in her hyacinths, the greens in her beech trees, and all the other kaleidoscopes of colours from her raspberries, peaches, sakuras, maples, hollies, lavenders, junipers and lemongrass.

The dress, her petals, was simple. Nothing crying for attention. Nothing fancy. Nothing fake or machine. It was sleeveless and it fell to her knees. But it was that simplicity that made her enchanting, that made the Lily stand above all the other flowers in her garden. It was a thin material that made her natural beauty stand out, the supple curve of her breasts, the pliant arc of her hips, the gentle outline of her bottom that trailed out to her slender legs and maiden arms – graceful fingers and soft face.

He hadn't known that he wasn't breathing. He hadn't known that he was staring. He hadn't known that he was in the middle of mission until she caught him standing there, at the threshold of her courtyard, of her garden, with his eyes wide, his heart beating loud and his face growing warm.

"Naruto-kun?" Hinata enquired, blinking curiously in the middle of her white lilies.

He jostled, almost stepping onto the nearest peony bush. He must have looked like a fool, he realized, gaping like that, with her staring at him like that, and with him unable to find words like that.

Hinata frowned, an action that did not mar her floral beauty, a crease that showed her inner workings. "Is everything alright?"

"I-I," he stammered, trying to catch his breath, cursing her dress. "I-I'm on mission! Yeah! That's right! A-A mission!"

She tilted her head, her neck exposed to the sunlight. It was so smooth and so long; something he hadn't noticed before, like a lily's elegant stem. "Do you need help, Naruto-kun?"

He paused, his heart loud and wild in his ears. For a moment, he dared not to believe in her offer. He could ask for anything, and she would graciously give. A lily was never selfish. Hinata was never selfish.

He laughed sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. He would be a fool to not take the opportunity given to him.

Bashful, cautious for this was all new to him, this _feeling_ all new to him, this _garden_ so unlike him that he was afraid he'd damage the fragile ecosystem that was her garden, Naruto asked, "A-Actually…"

Hinata encouraged him with a smile.

He breathed a little easier in her scent. "Can you lead me to your father? I kinda have a message for him."

Hinata's smile widened, teasing almost in his nervousness, and she set the watering can down. "Of course, Naruto-kun. I'll-"

"No need, Hinata-sama," the Venus Flytrap appeared, ever vigilant – ever carnivorous.

"Neji-niisan?" Hinata blinked, surprised by his sudden appearance.

"We'll lead him to chichioya-sama," the Rose said, coming out from under the shadows to stand by the trespasser's – the _pest's_ – side, her thorns as sharp as her teeth.

"Hanabi?" Hinata enquired, frowning. "Are you sure it won't be out of your way?"

"Iie," Neji assured, putting a placating, but what felt like _threatening_, hand on Naruto's back.

Hanabi took Naruto by his hand like a vine, constricting – warning, and crafted a smile for her sister. "We were just on our way to see chichioya-sama. Please, onee-sama, you must go back to tending your garden; the hazelnuts are ripe for the picking."

"Hazelnuts?" Naruto sounded, confused by the appearances of the other Hyuga. "I like hazelnuts!" He beamed at Hinata, who grew warm under his enthusiasm. "Maybe I can help you-"

"NO!" both Neji and Hanabi deterred at once.

Hinata's eyes went wide and so did Naruto's. They did not understand the brief panic that flittered through the usually blank Hyuga eyes of the Hyuga prodigies.

Calmer, and with a certain grit to her teeth, Hanabi tugged at Naruto's hand, leading him back into the hallways. "Naruto-_san_, you _must_ meet my chichioya-sama. You would _like_ him. He is like a _pine tree_."

"Good day, Hinata-sama." Neji bowed before following after the younger Hyuga and the jinchuriki.

"B-But," Naruto tried to voice his protest, but Neji cut him off quick with a glare.

Naruto had not seen that glare since the first Chunin Exams.

He should have known then, that afternoon when he first caught the true beauty and warmth of the Lily, that there were more than just a Venus Flytrap or a Rose to contend with, or a Pine Tree to nervously side-step from. There were a whole slew of apple blossoms, cheery trees, plum trees, carnations, hibiscuses, jasmines, magnolias, rhododendrons, sweet peas, pumpkins and tomatoes to wade through.

For although the Hyuga had become less mechanical, more colourful, and able to _feel_, they were no less Hyuga than before. They were not going to let their heiress be courted by just any male who thought her pretty and nothing more. They were not going to just bow to any bee or butterfly that may just be curiously floating by.

No. They would not just give her away!

But of course, they had forgotten that Naruto Uzumaki was Naruto Uzumaki. He was the jinchuriki. And a fox in a garden was always bound to stir up trouble.

xxx

**the point**


	2. There's a Fox in the Garden!

**To all those who reviewed: you were right, it wouldn't be complete without the Fox's story.**

**Cheers!**

**There's a Fox in the Garden!**

First and foremost, he did not say he was not a fox. He did not deny that he wasn't wily or tricky or slippery, or that he did not have the tendency to be loud and flamboyant and showy. He did not walk, or _stampede_ as they liked to frequently claim (he _was_ capable of hearing them whisper behind those flimsy rice paper doors), through their gates proclaiming that he was_ not_ a spectacle of orange and yellow, and that he did_ not_ eat ramen for seven days a week, and that he did_ not_ enjoy a few nights in the tavern getting plastered and wasted and generally incapable of speech until the next morning.

No.

He did not deny that he was a fox.

"Fox" was pretty much coated all over him for anyone to see, his fur orange and his eyes luminous. And they certainly had _eyes_. That was to say, they were known for their _eyes_. Certainly even _he_ knew better than to try to mislead their _eyes_.

He wasn't stupid (regardless what others – coughRosecough – may say).

He believed, by now anyway, that they should respect him for his forthcomings. He was not a liar (in spite of his foxy lineage) and did not intend to "deceive them" out of anything they weren't willing to give (in spite of his foxy lineage). And really, he thought, _they_ should be the last people on Earth to lecture him on basic manners and respect. They had been machines for most of their lives, incapable of understanding other beings, and they were lecturing _him_? _He_, at the very least, had _wanted_ human contact all throughout his life! _He_, at the very least, was capable of shielding her fragile stem from hail without being asked… not that she had been anywhere _near_ the garden for them to actually aid her, but that was beside the point!

…

Oh, alright then, perhaps he _did_ lie about bringing her back to the garden on time after an outing and that he did not trample on their – _her _(he would find out later, much to his shame) – peony bush – BUT THAT WAS ALL THE LIES HE HAD EVER TOLD THEM. (Oh, and that birdbath, but that was more the Rose's fault than his… despite what she may have said.)

So he wasn't as graceful as other foxes, or as charming, or as skilfully flirtatious – BUT he was honest, and he prided himself for that. He did not try to disguise himself, or try to sneak along the outside walls of their garden, or try to use false words to lure her in. He did not do that because, not only was he incapable of it, _she_ did not deserve that from him. At least on that point, they agreed… in a somewhat grouchy, shadowy way, but they agreed nevertheless.

And it was not like he had been lurking in the shadows, waiting for her to open up her petals before lunging at her like some _animal_! He was _not_ without manners or a healthy need to stay alive; he _had_ seen the Venus Flytrap by her stem and the Rose settled along her leaves. _He wasn't blind_, for Konoha's sake! He wasn't going to risk his _life_ just to catch a glimpse of her. If he was going risk his life, he was going to get _more_ than just a glimpse.

He wasn't _stupid_.

So he had been patient. He hadn't wanted to scare her away, hadn't wanted to frighten her enough for her to close up her petals and to withdraw her broad leaves. He hadn't wanted her to think badly of him or to believe he was like those other mindless foxes. _He actually cared about her opinion and needs and wants_. He _wanted_ to see her glow in the sun and shine in the rain out of her own desire, not his. He _wanted_ to make her happy, and be the thing she was most happy about. He _needed_ her to believe so, to believe in him because he had been the runt in his pack and he _so badly_ needed someone to accept him.

And he knew, from the moment he had first caught sight of her real self, that she was the only one capable of loving him the way he had yearned for and needed throughout his long years.

He wasn't about to screw it up, not then and certainly not now.

So he was slow and careful at first, shy and bashful in her eyes. He knew that there was a lot at stake, a lot of trials he had to go through, and that the prize was not really a prize, but a gift that only she would be able to give. Thus he stayed outside the walls, those blank, white walls that belied the colourful and warm secrets within.

He had believed that he had been mistaken. He believed that what he had seen the day before, in the midst of a very important task, was just a figment of his imagination. And he had _a lot_ of imagination, even for a fox. The image of her white petals, washed with the delicate colours of her garden, and her graceful long stem that caught the sun, and those slender leaves that promised gentleness… He had dreamt of her that night, and woke believing that it hadn't been real. That she was not real.

But she _was_ real, even as she had stepped out from behind the wall in muted colours – he had not been able to keep his eyes off her, frozen outside the gates of the wall simply to stare, and stare, and stare. He must have looked like a fool then, but he hadn't cared when he realized that she had disguised herself to be a weed all this time simply to divert other foxes from noticing her. He had been immensely pleased that he had had the honour of seeing her true self, and even more pleased when she let him see her petals again the day after, and the day after, and the day after…

A fox was an omnivore, preferring meat first. Thus he had been cautious of what he ate while in her presence, taking care not to step on any stray ragweeds along the sidewalks or crash into any oaks in the midst of training. He made sure not to pull too hard on any barberry bushes in the forests or rip through any reeds by the river while hunting down his latest prey – another troublemaker Hell-bent on downing Konoha… _again_.

He had been careful. He had been slow. He had been patient.

One would think her damn garden would appreciate his efforts.

It had all been worthwhile when she finally opened the picket fence and led him slowly into her garden. He didn't know what Heaven felt like, but it must have felt like those mangoes hanging ripe at their branches, like those red currants winking in the sunlight, like those strands of golden wheat swaying in the breeze, like those amaryllises still gleaming with dew, like those bellflowers clustered together, like those eggplants waiting to be plucked and those cabbages glowing like fairy orbs.

But most of all, Heaven must have felt like _her_.

_Her_ and her beautiful laughter. _Her_ and her gentle smile. _Her_ and that unbelievable, unforgettable, undeniable touch to his chin, a soft caress, a shy brush, a hopeful encounter that took his breath away and filled his soul and stretched his lungs and gave him something wonderful he couldn't quite name…

No mortal man, much less a fox, would be able to resist her, not when she was in her natural habitat, without her insecurities and discomforts. Not when she had reached her leaves out to him, rich in colour and gloss to the touch. Not when she had craned her stem up to meet his whiskers, long and graceful. Not when she had opened up her petals so white and pure to sweep up against his bristling fur.

Foxes were omnivores, preferring meat… but every now and then they would pluck a berry or gather a nut. It had not been possible, under that sweet sky, below that sweet sun, held in that sweet perfume of hers, for him to resist the temptation of one of her gooseberries, to sample one of her apricots, to test one of her flavourful almonds, or to taste one of her walnuts.

It had not been possible for him to _not_ lean forward, his nose twitching for her floral scent, and…

It had been their first kiss.

He had felt a tad lecherous knowing that it wouldn't be their last.

And as he slowly drew back, all his fur standing on end from exhilaration and his breath heady with need, he knew that it hadn't been enough. Even if she were to grace her petals upon his maw a thousand times… it would never be enough. It would never be enough, because he would always want her. He would always _need_ her. And those kisses were just too beautiful and wonderful and warm to let go of.

And he really should've known that it wouldn't be that easy. It was not just the simple matter of letting him into her garden to trample about like a wild thing and to hold her fragile head to the frenzy beat of his heart. It was not that simple because her damn garden was filled with poison ivies and monkshoods, and conniving nightshades and cunning hemlocks. He should have known because they had those _eyes_ of theirs, ever-watchful, ever-observant, ever-knowing, and with all those corn she had in her garden – they had been equipped with ears too.

He had known that the Venus Flytrap would be the first to confront him. They had known each other for a very long time… and he knew just how to snap his acidic teeth to keep the Fox away. For such a frail plant, the Venus Flytrap sure knew how to use its sharp tongue to whip the Fox into shape. Training Ground Five would never look the same again, but it had had to be done. They had both known that the Fox was stronger, but it had been more of a warning than an assassination attempt.

The Rose, however, had gone for an assassination. A dark beauty with crimson petals, her thorns were as scathing as her stem long. She had weaved a deadly web with her bushes and had attempted to cage the Fox. But the Fox was wily. The Fox was tricky and slippery. She may have those eyes of hers, but a simple genjutsu was enough to catch her off-guard. He had been generous in not plucking her petals, generous enough to nudge her along and pretend that nothing had happened. He had not wanted to make his own flower sad by damaging her Rose.

But he had underestimated her. He had forgotten that she had been trained by machines. He should have known that the Rose was a tattletale. He should have known that the Rose had other contacts outside the garden. Everyone knew that when one wanted a fox out of a garden, one needed a hound, and when one wanted to rid of pests, one needed a bigger bug with a sting to fend them off.

He should have known that the Rose would call on the Hound and the Kikaichu to interrogate him.

Of all the Rookie Nine, he had never feared Team Eight until the Hound drew his claws and fangs, and the Kikaichu threatened to suck out his innards until he was nothing but an empty fox carcass. It wasn't enough that it had been two against one (Nope. He wasn't ever allowed to catch a break, was he?), but the Hound had a hound of his own, and the Kikaichu had a whole damn colony up his sleeve. So how was the Fox supposed to reply when they asked him why the Hell was he barking up her tree and sniffing her roots?

Well, he was not a liar. He had not lied to them when he said how much he had needed her, and how much she had meant to him, and how much he had wanted to mean just as much to her, and how much it hurt to think that she would not want him as much as he did her, and how much it would pain him if they were to take her away from him.

He was not a liar.

He had not lied.

He did not lie in the many days after either.

And the Hound and the Kikaichu understood him and his intentions enough to lower their fangs and claws, and to call back the poisonous swarms to regard the Fox with a begrudging respect and a farewell threat of, "Don't screw it up, damn fox, or we'll gut you next time."

And that had been settled pretty much without blood and without pain, and with a careful peace that was a little shaky whenever he crossed the walls and entered her garden, but it held solid nevertheless. Sure, there were a few gossipy violets and vindictive narcissuses, but he could handle them. Sure, sometimes they went banana and pelted him with coconuts, but it was worth it. (Cocoa beans were a different matter – she _liked_ chocolates.)

In fact, it was considered rather fine for the Fox. _Anything_ was fine as long she was at his side. He could endure the harsh winters keeping her warm, the flooded springs keeping her from drowning, the suffocating summers keeping her shaded and the balmy autumn keeping her from being buried by the leaves. He could keep her watered, feed her in the mornings and sing to her in the evenings. He could go to Hell and back again, and move the Earth and Heavens for her, and anything else she would require of him – _they_ would require of him. As long as she was willing to stay by his side, didn't mind his flaws and the occasional flea, then he would do anything for her.

Because she was as much as his Lily as she was theirs, and cherishing her was something they both agreed on.

And with the passing of New Years and the sun falling over the horizon, the Fox's duty of keeping his Lily warm was of the outmost importance. Tall and proud, and a little too prideful some of the garden would say, he sauntered out into the open corridor of the Hyuga Compound and plopped down beside her with a chipper smile, admiring how her dainty feet brushed the snow-bitten grass and the way the winter stars shone warm in her eyes.

Sheepishly, a tad bashfully and feeling rather sure of himself, he wound his tail around her leaves, curling over her stem and easing her petals onto his shoulder. His heart was a steady _thump, thump_, his eyes a cerulean confidence, and his body eased into her warmth like she was his sun and he was that small, insignificant blade of grass she just happened to smile upon, gracing and blessing him for the rest of the year.

Oh, how he adored her.

"Naruto-kun," she murmured, easing into his arms like an autumn leaf falling quietly into the fog.

"Hinata-chan," he answered softly, a blush of pink on his cheeks at their intimacy. It still felt like a dream being with her, something that was too good to be true, something he was unworthy of, but was too selfish to let go.

She sighed happily, a snowflake caressing her cheek, a soft blush of petal-like gentleness. "Did you have fun tonight?"

He glanced at the paper lanterns strung along the roofs and the vases of flowers by the doorways. When her garden laid dormant in the winters, her plants and seedlings found other ways to display their petals and colours.

Naruto pressed his chin against her hair, feeling the tresses tickle him and pour warmth into his heart, and nodded, both to answer her and to feel her against him. "It was a nice party. I'm sure your dad appreciated your efforts."

Hinata grimaced and pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "It was Hanabi's idea." She sighed, as if she should have known better than to agree to any of her sister's ideas. "She thought it'd be… _different_ to throw a surprise party for chichioya's birthday, but…"

Naruto gave her an encouraging smile and drew her close to comfort her. He was not a liar, and he wasn't about to lie to her and say that her father thought that the surprise party was just his cup of tea – _because it wasn't_. And he wasn't about to defend Hanabi's idea either.

The Rose had been particularly sharp that night, her thorns like senbon to the bones.

"I'm sure he understands," Naruto assured her, drawing his mouth to her temple, loving the sensation of her hair tickling his lips. He would never tire of that. Never tire of her. "He loves you. You know he's not going to ban future surprise parties because of this." Because he had been planning one for her.

Hinata giggled, a sound that could be felt against his collarbone, an echo that reverberated through him like the soft scent of honeydews. He stopped himself from shivering. She had too much power over him already, not that he was complaining, of course.

"He might just do that," she finally said, a laughter bubbling at her throat, "just to spite Hanabi."

"Heh," Naruto chuckled. "The brat needs to be taught a lesson."

Hinata giggled again, her body so small and slight in his arms that he was tempted to cradle her and pull her into him forever. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her.

"You tired?" he asked her softly.

She hesitated at first, but then nodded, her hair brushing by his cheeks.

"Then you should take a nap," he suggested. "Don't worry, I'll keep you warm."

With a sigh, she tucked her head into the curve of his neck, her hair just tickling his Adam's apple, and her body relaxed in his hold. She would never truly sleep, just resting her eyes, but he was happy that she trusted him enough to be so vulnerable with him. Her majesty, her dignity, her beauty unravelled into simplicity and truth right before his eyes, in the faith and belief that he would keep her safe even at her most defenceless of times.

The Hyuga Clan rarely saw her so exposed, so otherworldly, so implacable. If they knew, they would have gone back to their rooms and lamented over their inability to make their beloved heiress so content that she had no fear of dangers. They would have trained doubly so just to ensure that she did not worry about being attacked or kidnapped ever again.

They were quite determined to keep their most cherished safe and happy.

The Hyuga Clan, in his opinion, could suck it.

He may be an outsider, but he took a lot of pride in knowing that their heiress was the most truthful whenever she was with him – hence all the seeds pelted at him whenever she wasn't looking.

He placed his nose to her hair and breathed in the warm cinnamon of her shampoo, a homey and sweet scent that promised warm nights, and comforting arms, and sugared kisses. He loved the way her hair was drawn up to that one white hair comb he had given her for her birthday, the etching of lilies in white stone. And her kimono, so white and iridescent, threaded through with silver lilies that gleamed like rivers under the moon, made her so ethereal and divine that he had wanted to hold her close and never let go.

He kissed her hair and looked up when he saw Neji treading lightly through Hinata's hibernating garden, some of the grasses and flowers hardy enough to make it through the winter. The lull of the _sha, sha_ sounds of the wind threading through the wheat grass made it comforting for Naruto as he gazed into the steady eyes of the Venus Flytrap.

Truce, but they both knew that soon they would be allies.

Too many pests had had the luck of catching a glimpse of their Lily lately. Like that Deer, all shadows and shiftiness, silence and sharp wit. The Venus Flytrap had caught the animal nibbling on some of her mushrooms that autumn. And then there was that Raccoon, who had handed her some desert flowers since he had heard that she had liked to garden. Imagine the rodent's surprise to see her in her garden, petals exposed and smelling of sweet nectar…

Shikamaru may be one of the greatest minds of the Rookie Nine, and Gaara may be one of his best friends, but there was no way in Hell was Naruto going to hand Hinata to anyone. It was hard enough getting through all those vines and bushes of the Hyuga Clan, and then harder still to keep her at his side – he was not going to just give her up to some boys who didn't know what it meant to transgress the Hyuga.

They were very, _very_ fond of their heiress.

Neji looked to Naruto's right, and the blond turned to see who it was.

He was not a liar. Thus, it was unnecessary of him to lie to himself that he hadn't been scared out of his wits in face of the Pine Tree. That cursed Pine Tree. That Pine Tree that could never be felled by weather or natural disaster, could never be broken by a hurricane or flooded by a tsunami, or torn from his roots by a twister or split in half by thunder. He was, that damned Pine Tree, every inch of bark of him, _unbreakable_.

"H-Hyuga-sama," Naruto stammered, afraid to move less he should wake Hinata… or the sleeping danger within the Pine Tree.

The Lord Hyuga seemed to notice this too, notice ever sharply that his daughter was so comfortable with the damned Fox that she did not wake in his presence. It was not an observation that comforted him in the very least.

"Uzumaki," Hiashi addressed in usual bout of monotone.

"Eh… Happy birthday?" Naruto tired, the awkwardness almost suffocating.

He had already dealt with the Venus Flytrap, the Rose, the Hound, the Kikaichu, and the whole of the wicked garden (and was _still_ dealing with the garden)… but the Fox had yet to deal with the Pine Tree.

"Thank you," Hiashi acknowledged, turning to face the garden so precious to his eldest.

Naruto shifted uncomfortably, careful in not waking Hinata.

"I have my eyes on you, Uzumaki," Hiashi warned.

Naruto tensed.

"You will treat her with care, otherwise…" Hiashi's threat hung like the thickest of pesticides.

Naruto swallowed and replied, "I would never dream of treating her with anything but with the outmost care, Hyuga-sama."

Hiashi narrowed his eyes, so white, so hard, so marble and mechanic almost, at the jinchuriki… and then nodded.

A chilly winter wind blew past, cold and relentless, and Naruto waited with bated breath, a heartbeat later, as Hiashi returned to the room where several foreign dignitaries were still present for him to deal with. All Naruto could do was breath a sign of relief and-

"Naruto-kun?" Hinata asked.

He jolted, surprised to find her awake. "S-Sorry, Hinata-chan. I didn't mean to wake you."

She stared at him, eyes wide like the moon and complexion as sweet and pale as a lily, and she smiled, teasingly, and tapped a finger on his nose. "You didn't wake me." She shook her head gently. "I thought you might be uneasy with my chichioya, that's all."

"O-Oh," Naruto said nervously, and then attempted an easy shrug. "S'okay. We're okay."

Hinata squinted her eyes playfully and placed a warm hand on his cheek. "Silly, Naruto-kun, I can see through _all_ your lies."

He grinned.

He was not a liar.

Not occasionally.

But whenever he was, she would be sure to catch him.

"I love you," he confessed.

Her smile widened. "You didn't lie this time."

Naruto laughed and dipped his mouth to catch her lips, a muzzle against her petals.

She was just as sweet as he remembered from yesterday.

"I love you too," she whispered before he leaned in to steal another taste of her nectar.

So sweet, this flower of his. May her garden grow large enough to encompass him, for he would love to be the fox the intruders would have to cross to get to her.

And he was not going to make it easy either.

xxx

**the point**


End file.
